Capturing that look on the cat’s face

was the best photo ever.  Got the cream,

got the mouse, even the dog stunned, speechless.

For once.

And echoing in my hallways,

silence. Like a long, stretching yawn.

It dawned on me at last  that this was it.

Social decay.  Personal, though, so the

crowd couldn’t see through the mist of

endless smiles and tinny laughter.

Champagne corks still blew

circles into ceilings.  And the plaster

still crumbled.

Never mind, the cat was happy.  (Still) left black

hair on white leather.  Sharpened claws on the door

frames.

The cat got the cream, got the mouse.

© Jacqui Thatcher 2015